'Twas The Night After Christmas….

A Christmas Message…

This one goes back a couple of years. It involves alcohol, The Wife, the Police, the Fire Brigade and a smattering of woe. And some rude words…

It was Boxing Night, I'd just finished work at 6pm, and had settled down in the pub for a few pints. I knew that The Wife was working night shift in the Control Room of the local Police Station, and that she was going to her mum's for dinner. I'd have to cook my own when I got home. Ho-hum.

So, a night of excellent drinking japes, and much Bacchanalian buffoonery ensued. As time went on, however, I realised that it was getting late, and I'd not eaten yet. So I made my excuses and left at about 11pm. Well-oiled, as they say.

Back home and starving, I decide to cook up some sausages for my dinner. They were taking ages to cook, so in my (drunken) wisdom, I closed the grill door to keep the heat in. I mean, the sausages will cook quicker, won't they?

Next thing I know, the smoke alarm is peeping away, and there is smoke coming from the kitchen…..

No problem, open grill door, see that sausages are now charred remains, all they are doing is quickly converting themselves into smoke, which is pouring out. Open all the windows and waft a newspaper over the smoke alarm to get it to shut up. Under control.

Cut to The Wife -

She's at work, quietly directing coppers to check the local roads, as the snow has been falling hard. The 'phone rings, and it's the local Command Centre telling her that the Fire Brigade are attending a house fire in the very block of flats where she lives…!

"I hope it's not number 7…" she says, only to be told that it is indeed her house…

So how does she react? With the calmness and composure of a trained member of a stressful Control Room?

"THAT FUCKING, FUCKING BASTARD. I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL HIM!!!! THAT'S MY FUCKING HOUSE!"

As I'd been fanning the smoke alarm, there was a heavy knock at the door. I expected some of the neighbours were getting annoyed at the noise, and were just making sure that I was OK. I open the door, and a swarm of Firemen pour into the house, through to the kitchen to check on the "fire", and upon seeing that there was no danger, back out again…except The Firewoman.

The Firewoman is the wife of a good, good friend of mine, and she stayed behind to give me a few words of wisdom - "YOU STUPID FUCKING BASTARD!", amongst a few others.

(Departing words from the Firemen? "Everything's under control. Hey, have you got any drink?", and when I say "No" they all dive into the flat across from me, where there is some, apparently!)

I also remember a Policeman asking a few questions. Apparently, they have to attend this sort of incident.

What had happened was this-

Our upstairs neighbour had heard the smoke alarm going for a while, and had come downstairs to check. He'd knocked on my door and got no reply, and smoke coming out from under the door, so he went back upstairs and rang 999 to report a fire. It was this knocking that must have aroused me from my alcoholically-induced slumber.

So, when the Police officers get back to the Police Station, what do you think is the first thing The Wife asks them?

"Is my darling husband OK?"
or
"Is the flat badly damaged?"

Nope, not a bit of it - "Is my cat OK?"

In the morning when she got home, she was most annoyed that I hadn't written off the cooker, as she's hated it for years! Halfway up the stairs there was two slices of half-eaten stale bread, which I knew nothing of…I must have tried eating them, as I knew I needed food..!

And by Christ, what an almighty bollocking she gave me though, and I suppose I deserved it….

However, there is a moral to all this..….


The Wife was reminded of this story when she went into work last night, and opened her payslip. There, in big bold letters was the following message:-

"WARNING!! 8 RECENT ALCOHOL RELATED FIRE DEATHS. PLEASE DO NOT COOK WHEN DRINKING. YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT!!!."


So everyone, please do not cook whilst under the influence of alcohol - you may not be as lucky as me……..